


Against All Odds

by Highly_Illogical



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Adventure, Animal Abuse, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-06 23:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8774440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Highly_Illogical/pseuds/Highly_Illogical
Summary: When his peaceful observations are interrupted by a pair of unscrupulous wizards in search of profit, Newt knows that the odds of undoing the crime he's witnessed are against him, but he's beaten the odds before and he's got a case full of creatures to prove it. Little does he know that he'll get more than he bargained for from his latest venture.Or, the story of how Newt met Dougal.Rated Teen for some depictions of abuse of a fictional creature. If it's not your cup of tea, move on.





	1. Interrupted

Newt’s whole body was protesting loudly against the inconvenient position, but it was the best vantage point he’d ever get and he wasn’t about to give it up for the sake of comfort. Ha! Comfort, imagine that. He’d said goodbye to it the day he’d set out for his research, but the rewards were more than worth it.

And so it was that he found himself perched in a tree, sketchbook in hand and a pair of handy little Muggle binoculars hanging from his neck, doing what he did best: learning by observation and praying to Merlin or whatever other legendary figure might be listening that the foliage was hiding him enough not to cause his subjects to escape him again. It had taken some doing to find a troop of Demiguises to document, even though the locals (those who spoke enough English to understand what he was after, at any rate) swore up and down that they’d caught glimpses of them in the area, but that was to be expected, he supposed: how did you go about finding something that had a nasty habit of staying invisible?

Even though he’d been quiet as a mouse, the creatures were very circumspect, their silvery white forms shimmering in and out of sight at the slightest provocation, and he couldn’t shake off the feeling that they knew they were being watched. Much of his preliminary work was done more from memory than from copying what he saw, simply because more often than not, there was nothing to see.

They had an uncanny ability to disappear with ample time to spare, before he could even get an inkling of the incoming threat. At first, he’d chalked it up to superior senses: perhaps they could smell or hear things far beyond the human range. But that had soon been disproved: Demiguises might have the advantage of their own brand of magic, but they were just as subject as the next mundane animal to a predator’s ambush, provided it came from somewhere they did not expect. His current working theory was some sort of precognition, useful but not infallible. The few times he’d been lucky enough to have his binoculars glued to his face a moment before they turned invisible and scampered, he’d seen their eyes flash a bright shade of blue, a possible sign that their penchant for being one step ahead of their natural enemies had something to do with sight, and he was more and more tempted to tack a capital S on the word, but just like wizards who liked to dabble in Divination, they did not foresee _the_ future, only _one_ future out of many, and that was liable to change at any moment, usually for the worse. If only he could have a specimen for himself, to study on his own terms, perhaps even coming up with tests to understand how it worked…

Newt grinned from ear to ear at the endearing spectacle they were currently offering and brought the binoculars up to his eyes for a closer look. For a moment, one of them – possibly a female, if her size didn’t deceive him – appeared to be plucking at nothing, then a young adult appeared before her, looking fairly pleased at her ministrations. Of course—any fleas hidden in their magical fur became invisible by proxy, making grooming next to impossible. They were essentially doing each other a favour: _I’ll rid you of those nasty bugs if you trust me enough to let me see you, so now we’re friends, right?_ If only it were that easy with people.

But the idyllic scene was suddenly cut short, a rustling of leaves and distant shrieks of alarm the only signs that the troop had disbanded. It was a moment before Newt pinpointed the source of the disturbance: two men, obvious locals if their features and robes were any indication, had just shimmered into view below him, chattering rapidly in a language he didn’t speak. Whatever they were saying, they did not sound happy: in fact, they appeared to be having a heated argument, the taller of the two pointing alternately at the Invisibility Cloak that had been hiding them and at the spot where the Demiguises had just disappeared, as though suggesting, perhaps, that it was faulty. His companion seemed to be trying to make himself even smaller at his accusations, but there must have been something of value in what he was saying, as the first wizard finally stopped chewing him out and concealed them both under the Cloak once again. It was not, in fact, defective: they were almost entirely gone, and the only problem Newt could see was the occasional flash of a foot telling him it was barely big enough to cover them.

Now that they seemed to have abandoned their original plan – and whatever that plan was, he had a sinking feeling it must have been nefarious, or it wouldn’t have caused such a panic –, the Demiguises began reappearing one by one, scattered in the nearby trees. It was something he always enjoyed watching: it gave him a vague idea of their individual dispositions, the more daring ones returning to visibility first, the shy ones waiting for their braver fellows to confirm it was safe before showing themselves.

Newt almost fell off his branch when the last of them – a tiny little thing, barely more than a cub – shimmered into existence on the tree next to his, closer than ever. He couldn’t believe his luck. Perhaps there was something to be gained from this incident after all.

The two wizards were still around somewhere, invisible and mostly silent except for a few sudden eruptions of hurried whispering that he couldn’t understand, and their presence made his stomach clench with dread. Even without knowing their language, their tone alone told him they were planning again, and whatever this new scheme involved, it must have been beyond the Demiguises’ ability to predict, and probably not good. He didn’t like assuming the worst, but the fact remained that he was usually right when he did.

Still, the occasion was too good to pass up, so he returned to his observations. He was halfway immersed in his sketching, keeping an ear out for the pair of wizards, since his eyes wouldn’t do him much good, when one of the two voices intoned something that sounded unmistakably like a complex incantation. He tensed up, ready to make as much noise as he could to scatter the creatures and save them from their clutches, even if it meant losing the chance of a lifetime, but nothing seemed to happen—no traps, no flashes of light indicating spell fire, nothing.

He didn’t notice the monkey – an ordinary one, with agile limbs and a long, powerfully built tail that probably allowed it impressive stunts not unlike those seen in a Muggle circus – until it was too late. The little Demiguise’s only response was to disappear, only to reveal itself again moments later, studying the newcomer, perhaps trying to work out what it was. Its curious expression was truly something to be immortalized on paper, but his quill had barely scratched the page when everything went wrong.

The branch bent under the extra weight as the monkey’s body stretched and changed before him, taking on the appearance of the smaller wizard, who grabbed the Demiguise and Disapparated with a resounding _crack_ before the wood could snap. The rest of the troop scurried away once again, invisible, and his associate below let out a shout of glee that appeared to come from nowhere before a second sound announced his departure, Cloak and all.

Newt leant on the tree trunk for support, but it helped very little. The world was spinning in a mixture of sadness, rage and disgust at what he’d just seen. He’d known, in abstract, that Demiguises were highly sought after for the production of Invisibility Cloaks that worked naturally, with no need of adding advanced charms to the fabric, and he supposed, with hindsight, that the fact that the two unknown wizards even owned one, coupled with the creatures’ instant reaction to them, should have been a clue of what they were up to. But this… this was something else entirely. That one of them would agree to go through the discomfort of being Transfigured into an animal, a naturally curious tree-dweller that would want to join its fellows even after losing his human intelligence, and stand ready to snatch the closest one as soon as the spell wore off, was simply a level of refined cruelty that no amount of foresight could have anticipated, and they were counting exactly on that.

He willed himself to take deep, calming breaths, and the situation improved marginally. It wouldn’t do to fall off and break his neck or be sick all over his sketches, and he felt very much like doing both at the moment. There was still a possibility that the little one would be treated relatively well, but the rough way his greedy hands had tightened on his prey told him it was very, very slim.

He had to find them. Wherever they were, so was the Demiguise, and he would put it back where it belonged if it was the last thing he did.


	2. Everything Has a Price

The shopping district was something of a local equivalent to Diagon Alley, situated at the very heart of a wizarding settlement concealed by layers upon layers of enchantments that were sure to keep Muggles well away, but rather than a single winding street with only one extremely disreputable detour, it seemed to be entirely made of detours. Shops advertising all manner of magical artefacts fought tooth and nail for potential customers, and the apparently booming business appeared to be spilling over into the crisscrossing streets in the form of rickety little stands that were probably held together by magic and quite a bit of sheer luck. Newt suspected there were some Undetectable Extension Charms at play in its intricate layout, because there was simply no way it could hold so many people at once, and moreover, he had the sinking feeling he’d already passed that cauldron shop once, which meant he was utterly lost. Great.

Looking for two particular men in such a place seemed to be the definition of an impossible task, but it was a starting point like any other, as much as he disliked it. Crowded settings were somewhat dizzying, with people coming and going as though they had a dragon on their heels and always giving him the peculiar feeling that he took up too much space. Walking in a straight line was just wishful thinking, and no matter where he stood, there was always someone who thought it was exactly the wrong spot.

Crowds, it seemed, tended to bring out the worst in people: where a single person might have asked him nicely to move out of the way, the standard practice in this bustling mass was to yell something incomprehensible that didn’t sound suitable for polite company and, once it was clear that he didn’t understand a word, proceed to elbow him to get the point across. And if that weren’t enough, crowds were also breeding grounds for petty criminals: after the third attempt on his pockets, or worse yet, his suitcase, he’d had to protect his belongings with rather nasty anti-theft measures. At least one of said pockets was safe without the addition of unpleasant jinxes: Pickett might act shy all he liked, but he was plenty capable of defending himself with those sharp fingers.

The witch who owned this particular stall seemed to know enough heavily accented English to hold something that could be called a conversation, if he were generous with his definitions (and frankly, by this point, he was feeling extremely generous), but she was clearly the sort of person whose information did not come cheap. Half speaking, half gesturing, she made it very clear that she had no intention of helping him if he left empty-handed. Newt sighed and browsed the display before him. It was high time to replenish his stock of potion ingredients anyway, and it was well worth the risk of buying substandard material at an inflated price if she could point him in the direction of those two.

It took a pricey little bottle of armadillo bile that he could only hope was not mislabelled on purpose to get her into a more talkative mood, but if her grin – with two or three teeth missing, he noticed – was any indication, it had been the right move.

“Do you know where I might buy an Invisibility Cloak?”

He didn’t think he’d be so lucky as to be sent straight to them, but such items were very rare, and even in a busy marketplace like that, he was sure she couldn’t come up with a very long list. She stared blankly, and it was a moment before he realized she hadn’t understood his question at all, whether because the words were beyond her or because she hadn’t heard him over the din of overlapping voices all around them, it was hard to say.

“You know, _invisible_?” Blushing to the roots of his hair at the thought of such a ridiculous charade, he mimed pulling a cloak over his head.

“Oh.”

She nodded in apparent comprehension and jerked her thumb in the direction of a stall he’d already passed, where an oily little wizard was offering garish robes he wouldn’t wear if they paid him solid gold, the most magical of which probably had a Warming Charm added in for the coldest of days at the most.

“No, no—here, look.”

Frustrated, he drew his wand and repeated the gesture, then cast a quick Disillusionment Charm on himself, shivering at the unpleasant feeling of something cold trickling down his body. Seeing him blend in with his surroundings finally rang a bell. She looked him up and down, or tried to, anyway, as her eyes slid right past him and looked in a direction that was just slightly off. Oops. Sheepishly, he undid his work, and she shook her head as if to tell him to give up his search.

“Costs much, much money, sir.”

Or, in the more flowery words she couldn’t say, there was no way an obvious foreigner with no connections, clothes that had seen better days, and a battered old suitcase that looked as though it had been through more scrapes than its owner could ever afford an Invisibility Cloak. Fair point.

“Uh, I know, but I really need to find one.”

She narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion, and with good reason, he supposed. In a place so rife with deception and distrust, a stranger who was that desperate to find reliable means to make himself invisible could only have plans to go somewhere he had no business being. Great, so now he’d managed to sound like a criminal. He didn’t think she could report him to the local Auror forces just for asking for information, but it wasn’t exactly a promising start.

A small vial of essence of rue that was definitely too expensive for its size bought her silence, and at long last, she began a series of halting attempts at giving him instructions. He tried his best to memorize them, but it was all a rather confusing affair—left, right, left, then a stammering pause as she looked for the best way to explain something that she couldn’t quite break down into basic sentences, then left again… well, at least it was better than nothing.

“Thank you, madam. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, sir, and good luck. Please come back.”

That, he thought, was highly unlikely. Even Pickett had pulled a face when he’d stashed his purchases too close to where he was riding.

 

The shop, when he finally found it, was so small and unassuming he might have overlooked it if he hadn’t been specifically searching for it, but a familiar flash of silvery white in the window stopped him in his tracks. The only sign above the door was written in ideograms he wouldn’t have had the faintest clue how to read even if they hadn’t been peeling off, and apart from the Cloak, the display didn’t tell him much about what sort of merchandise he might find inside. It seemed to be a motley collection of magical odds and ends, from a handheld fan with a handsome moving depiction of a Chinese Fireball to a pair of boots that he was sure were charmed in some way, but needed a quick _Reparo_ before they could be of any use as actual footwear. To his inexperienced eye, it looked for all the world as though the owners had thrown together anything of value they could find, without a visible pattern or purpose other than making a profit.

A bell overhead announced his entrance as he walked in, but there was no reaction. The counter seemed to have been deserted, and there was no sign of either wizard anywhere else. Not the best customer service, perhaps, but it certainly came in handy.

Newt took a few moments to assess the place under the feeble pretence of browsing what was on offer: it was small, so overflowing with wares it was probably wisest to walk with his eyes firmly glued to the floor to avoid tripping, and it certainly had no space where a Demiguise could live in any semblance of happiness. Perhaps, he reasoned, they weren’t keeping it here at all, which would be both a blessing and a curse, because while a second building might provide better living conditions, it probably wasn’t as exposed to the public as the shop, and he would have to get past who knew what enchantments to check on the creature, assuming he could find it.

Just as he wondered with a fond smile what his Niffler would have made of the wide selection of jewellery for sale, a creak alerted him to another presence. He whipped around to see the smaller of the pair, the one he’d given the less than polite moniker of ‘Mr. Monkey’, emerging from what looked like a trapdoor that was carefully concealed in the floor just behind the counter. His heart sank. Was it possible they kept it in the basement, of all places, with not even a bit of sunlight for comfort? And provided he was right, how was he to get there undetected?

The man’s greeting sounded perfectly cordial, except for the small problem that he didn’t catch any of it.

“I’m… I’m sorry, sir, I’m afraid I don’t speak your language.”

“Oh, a foreigner? From Europe?” He silently thanked Merlin as the other switched to the smoothest English he’d heard yet.

“Yes, well, I’m a traveller.”

“You must have had a very good reason to come all the way here.”

The wizard seemed to be studying him with far too much interest, and his hold on the suitcase tightened in fear. Why hadn’t he thought of taking off his coat, at least? What if he’d noticed a flash of blue in the leaves a moment before Disapparating with his quarry and was already making connections?

“Such an unexpected visit is a great honour. Have you seen anything you like?”

“Yes, um, I couldn’t help but notice you seem to have an authentic Invisibility Cloak on display.”

That prompted much the same appraising glance he’d got from the witch earlier, but a businessman wasn’t about to throw out a customer based on what it looked like he could afford. He grinned from ear to ear.

“Ah, yes, one of our most prized articles. Would you like to examine it?”

He walked purposefully to the shop window and offered it to him, his hands shimmering in and out of sight as he carried it. Newt fingered the fabric with care, then wrapped his fist in it as if to check its effectiveness. The texture spoke for itself: silky, finely woven Demiguise hair. He felt bile rising in his stomach, and he prayed he wasn’t making it too obvious what he thought of the shopkeeper.

“It looks like a high-quality piece you’ve got,” he forced himself to say.

“The very best. No need to worry about charms wearing off—just see that it doesn’t tear and you’ll have everything you need for a long, long time. My partner and I are very proud of these.”

Exactly how many more had they made, and how many creatures had been harmed for the purpose? Just the fact that he was speaking in the plural gave him an urge to punch him in the face the Muggle way. He’d probably hurt his knuckles, but he had a feeling it would be so much more satisfying than a hex. But that was an instinct best channelled into some vigorous work down in the case: if it came down to a duel, so be it, but he didn’t think an all-out brawl would turn out well for him or the Demiguise.

“Well, that’s perfect. I’d like to purchase it, then.”

“Sir, I don’t mean to offend, but…”

“I’m willing to trade,” he cut him off. Between his usually meagre finances and the unplanned expenses he’d had to make just to get there, the likelihood of affording the thing with money alone was at an all-time low, but he made it a point to carry some interesting goods on his person at all times for just such occasions. There were a few perks to being a magizoologist after all.

That, apparently, was music to the other wizard’s ears. “A moment of patience, then, sir. I’ll get you another one from downstairs.”

Newt cheered internally. His daring move had been counting precisely on the fact that he wouldn’t give up the specimen from the window: perhaps he would get a peek at the basement when he opened the trapdoor to get another one from storage.

Another creak, and then a sound that chilled him to the bone. As he tried uselessly to peer down the opening, a high, keening cry escaped whatever soundproofing charm would have normally kept it from unsuspecting customers’ ears, as though the creature below had been waiting for just that moment to make itself heard. Was it possible that this was a last-ditch attempt to improve its foreseeable future?

The shopkeeper froze and shut the trapdoor with a force that made the nearest merchandise shake. “Ah, that… that was probably my associate. A brilliant mind, yes, he is, but I’m never quite sure what he does down there. Experimental charms and such.”

“Perhaps… perhaps I should come back for the Cloak later, then, when you two aren’t working on anything dangerous,” he said, grateful that the blatant lie gave him an opportunity to duck out of the shop and plan the next phase of his half-baked rescue operation with the care it deserved. He couldn’t just go charging in with his wand blazing. That was such a Gryffindor thing to do.

Still, he’d beaten the odds before, and he had the inhabitants of his case to testify for that. Besides, he hadn’t taken Divination, so who was he to say? He could only leave the Sight to the little critter and hope for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have no idea what electives Newt may or may not have taken during his school career, but bear with me, okay? Divination just doesn't sound like something suitable for a man who lives by the motto "Worrying means you suffer twice". In fact, knowing bits and pieces of the future just generates more worry.


	3. On a Mission

Newt sank gracelessly to a sitting position in his shed, just breathing in the familiar overlapping scents of herbs and food for his companions. It was the only thing that truly calmed him down, and he needed a clear head to piece together a viable plan.

Pickett shook him out of his reflections by pulling at the lapel of his coat with a demanding little squeak.

“Hmm? What’s that? You hungry?” They couldn’t exactly hold a full conversation, but enthusiastic chittering usually meant yes. He sighed softly and stood to get the jar of woodlice. “All right, you greedy little thing, but just a snack. I should really learn to say no to you.”

The tiny creatures curled up on his fingers in fear at the sight of the fearsome, six inches tall predator standing on his other hand, but it was no use: Pickett gobbled them up anyway and looked up at him gratefully. His little eyes spurred him into action: he had someone else to take care of, someone who had much bigger problems than a hankering for some extra woodlice.

The first order of business was altering his appearance. Mr. Monkey would be expecting him, and he didn’t much care for the prospect of having the sort of inane conversation that usually took place between a shopkeeper and a patron, not when he was on a mission. And more importantly, he hadn’t liked the way the man had studied him at all, like a piece of meat for sale rather than a customer. He didn’t know exactly what he and his partner thought of him, but none of the labels he could think of sounded good—a thief, or perhaps a competitor, all figures that were liable to get hexed on sight. As a first, simple measure, he changed the colour of his trusty coat to a plain brown. He’d come to like it as it was, but blue was far too distinctive. The downside of buying everything second-hand with his less than fabulous Ministry wages was that he often had to make do with whatever was left, even when it made blending in impossible and contributed to the general impression of oddity that seemed to keep people at arm’s length. Pickett squeaked in protest as the new look spread to his safe haven.

“Hey, hey, sorry if I scared you. It’s still the same old pocket, you know.”

Now, Polyjuice Potion was out of the question for a number of reasons. For one thing, he didn’t have all of the ingredients in his possession, and the missing ones would have given his finances a finishing blow. Secondly, he did not have a month to waste. He was already operating on a tighter schedule than he would have liked in order to get his book published within a reasonable timeframe, and knowing the unsavoury sort of wizard those two probably were, there was a very real possibility that the little one would be dead in a month’s time. No, he needed something quicker. He would have dearly loved to be a Metamorphmagus. It would have been a lot less hassle that way.

Self-Transfiguration was always an unpleasant affair, but not one he was entirely unfamiliar with: all the times he’d had to come up with unlikely camouflage, turning his skin all sorts of colours to get closer to a particularly elusive beast, were finally coming in handy. Such things were best done with his wand in one hand and a mirror in the other for additional safety, though, so he hastened to retrieve one from the organised chaos of his tools.

It had a scratch in a corner he hadn’t been aware of—more likely than not, he’d left it unsupervised and the Niffler had been unable to resist the way it caught the light. And speaking of the pilfering little guy, he had half a mind to bring him along. He wasn’t overly fond of the thought of exposing him to danger (what if he got in the way of a stray spell? What if some of the jewellery he tried to grab was cursed?), but he would make for a great distraction, and hopefully allow him to slip through the trapdoor while whichever one was in charge of the shop tried to save his merchandise from his sticky paws. He made sure one of his many inner pockets was expanded enough for a comfortable fit and set to work on his improvised disguise.

The first thing he could come up with was to lengthen and darken his hair and give himself bushy eyebrows and an impressive black beard to match—the more of his face was naturally hidden, the less he would have to intervene on more dangerous elements such as his overall facial structure. But that wouldn’t do: he had a sinking feeling there would be fighting involved, and he didn’t relish the idea of long hair getting into his face during a duel. It wasn’t Sight, it was simple common sense. A hastily conjured hairband did the job, tying back the unfamiliar dark mass. Next, instead of clearing his skin of freckles, he went the opposite route and darkened the rest of it just enough for them to blend in—a more radical change, but still in the realm of things he trusted himself to try.

“That looks nice enough,” he reasoned out loud, “but I still look too much like myself.”

And he _sounded_ too much like his old self too, he realised as soon as the words came out of his mouth. A foreign customer every once in a while was apparently not unheard of, but two of them in quick succession, and with the exact same voice and British accent? There went his concealment.

Thankfully, there were potions for that which wouldn’t impair his speech in the process, and having to produce sounds that would never come out of a human throat without a little magical help was another scenario he had often seen. So much for those who mocked his life’s work, he thought a little ungenerously. Going after strange creatures had apparently taught him a lot of unexpected skills, perhaps not so much as to switch careers and become an Auror like his revered brother, but hey, he wasn’t too shabby for one with a permanent stain on his track record.

He ran through the current inventory of his shed in his mind—yes, everything was on hand, thank Merlin. As an extra precaution, he took a leaf out of his mentor’s book and pointed his wand at his nose, wincing as he felt it bend the wrong way as though someone had once broken it, then he put down the mirror and went through the motions of setting up his worktable to brew a suitable voice-altering potion.

He hadn’t thought he would be exceptionally good at that particular branch of magic when he’d first started studying it, not after everyone except Leta fell into the unpleasant habit of bending over backwards not to have him as a lab partner, but as they said, practice makes perfect, and he’d had plenty of that, between finding creatures in abysmal conditions and having to patch himself up when he was miles away from the nearest proper Healer, so he’d slowly taken a liking to the delicate, methodical work.

But if there was one thing he truly disliked about potion-making, particularly when it was urgent, it was all the waiting. Newt was not a man to sit there staring at a bubbling cauldron as his latest concoction inched towards completion at a painfully slow pace. He might as well be productive in the meantime. He glanced at his watch to set the proper time to come back and finish, hoisted up a couple of heavy buckets of feed and locked the shed securely as he left to make sure that no one would sneak into it in his absence and ruin his work, or worse, get hurt.

It was by far the most difficult trek through the case he’d had in a while, and that, as strange as it sounded, was a good thing. His scent and demeanour were enough to reassure the creatures that it was still him under his new appearance (and the offer of food certainly helped things along), but there was a certain satisfaction in seeing the Fwooper open his beak wide in what would have been an ear-splitting alarmed cry if it hadn’t been for the Silencing Charm, or in having to wait for the Mooncalves to understand that the hand throwing them yummy pellets for dinner was the same as ever. Their initial reactions of fear and distrust weren’t an experience he cared to repeat anytime soon, but it meant his handiwork was good enough to fool them, at least until their superior noses confirmed his identity.

The finished potion looked supremely uninviting in its sickly yellow-green colour, and its odd taste, like something sweet that had gone stale, clung to his palate unpleasantly like a thin film coating his mouth, but it was all right—all signs that it would work.

“When will they invent one that actually tastes good?” he said out loud, more as a test than anything else, and it came out more high-pitched than he’d planned. Perfect.

It took some coaxing to get the Niffler out of his beloved nest as the next phase of his plan, and Pickett seemed simply unable to comprehend why anyone would _dislike_ being carried in a pocket.

“Right, come on, you little thief, we’re going for a ride.” All he obtained was for his pointy little face to emerge from his shiny stash. “It’ll be the heist of the century,” he promised in a sing-song voice. “I really need you to come along, and whatever you find, you get to keep, I swear.”

That seemed to win him over, but he still stuffed as many trinkets as he could into his pouch for the journey. He could never go without for too long.

 

Newt was quite sure Pickett could hear his heartbeat loud and clear as he pushed the door once again, making an honest effort to stand as straight as if they’d tied a broomstick to his back in hopes of appearing taller and fooling them further. This time, Mr. Monkey was at his expected post behind the counter, and met the ringing of the bell with even more rapid-fire words that weren’t any more decipherable than Gobbledegook. He just nodded in response, not wanting to admit straight away that he didn’t understand: his false identity was miles away from a local in appearance, but he didn’t want to risk tipping him off in any way. He just hoped he wouldn’t notice he was carrying the same suitcase as before—no way he would leave it unsupervised, even for this.

He had to wrap his coat tighter around his body as he pretended to browse, as the Niffler was already squirming to get out of the expanded compartment. Only when he estimated he’d reached the furthest possible corner did he turn his back on the shopkeeper and whisper: “Do your worst.”

If chaos could be bottled, you could have sworn someone had just given the flask a good shake and uncorked it. Mr. Monkey swore loudly as a little flash of black fur zoomed around the shop, toppling over delicate merchandise with great crashes in his frenzy to get at anything that so much as glinted in the scarce light.

At first, he did not leave the sanctuary of the counter, and simply shot the first spells from where he stood, interspersed with threats that were universal enough for Newt to get the gist of them—that he intended for him to pay for every Knut of damage and that he’d be the next target of his curses if he didn’t stop it, probably. But the Niffler was too fast, disappearing swiftly behind piles of products for cover only to dash to the next glittering piece of jewellery a moment later, and it was soon obvious that the stray flashes of light would never make contact if he didn’t actually give chase.

It was the opening Newt had been waiting for. Getting to the trapdoor was a complicated affair that involved stepping over the sorry remains of what used to be a finely decorated vase and a broken bottle whose contents sizzled ominously in the open air, not to mention a nasty smell of singed hair telling him that a hex had only just missed him, but finally, he lifted it. And it creaked especially loudly as if to spite him.

The world seemed to stop as Mr. Monkey put the pieces together, realising with a snarl that the little critter had just been a decoy. Even the Niffler, he thought, interrupted his frantic search as the shopkeeper turned his attention from him to Newt, but he’d been ready. That split second of indecision between two targets was what decided the entire outcome.

“ _Petrificus Totalus!_ ”

Now, ordinarily, hitting a man who was unprepared didn’t sit right with Newt’s conscience, but with his less than stellar academic past, it was always safer to operate on the assumption that his opponent’s magic was superior to his and it was wiser to leave fairness and loyalty out the door. One down, one to go.

“Get over here, I’m not leaving you,” he said, and the Niffler dashed down the steep stairs ahead of him.

This time, he was fully prepared to pull a Gryffindor and instigate the fight with the taller wizard first, if he was down there at all. He never had the chance for such heroics. Of all the things that could have gone wrong in his carefully crafted plan, he slipped and tumbled down the rest of the way, and had barely had the time to check that nothing was broken when his ill-fated rescue operation seemed to come to a head in the worst of ways.

“ _Incarcerous!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? Yay for fantasy settings allowing me to blatantly make up what I need.


	4. Family

He felt Pickett clambering out of his pocket before the crushing hold of the magical ropes snapped his twiggy body in half, and an invisible force sat him upright on the slick floor of the basement.

The Niffler had darted to a corner unnoticed, all mischief seeming to have seeped out of him. There was nothing remotely shiny in this musty darkness, and the spectacle that presented itself once his eyes got used to it took his breath away more than the tight restraints could.

It was a simple storage room, stacked with boxes upon boxes that were sure to contain the same barely legal assortment of magical goods as the shop upstairs, and the centrepiece was a charmed spinning wheel that was making a long, silvery thread whose purpose was all too easy to guess. Next to it, a particularly large crate acted as a worktable for the taller wizard of the pair, who was only now bothering to rise from his seat to question him in angry barks that meant nothing.

The little Demiguise they’d recently captured was being kept in a miserable cage that hardly allowed it to move at all, seemingly given no more value than the scruffy quill he’d abandoned on his makeshift desk, and it was not alone. There was a second one next to its own, and the state of its occupant threatened to bring tears to his eyes.

It was visibly underfed, a shadow of itself, and its once gleaming silvery hair had an unnaturally dull tone to it—or what was left of it, anyway. It was matted with dried blood and appeared to be growing back in irregular patches after being sheared off with sloppy Cutting Charms that didn’t much care whether they tore through fur or flesh. Newt fought against the ropes with a growl that would have put some of his beasts to shame, but they just tightened further.

The man yelled another question, and when no answer came, he resorted to the only other means of communication he knew. The spell felt like a white-hot slap on his cheek, and a sensation of seeping warmth told him he was bleeding.

“I’m… I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“A foreigner? I thought you were just playing dumb. Now let me ask you again in friendlier terms: what are you doing here?”

Newt privately thought he’d never heard anyone sound _less_ friendly. In fact, it struck him as odd that he hadn’t thought of depriving him of his wand for good measure, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain. Not that having it in his possession was much of an advantage at the moment—the ropes were coiled so tightly they were making it press uncomfortably into his flesh, and try as he might, he couldn’t get it to slide into his hand, instead squirming pathetically in the attempt.

“I… uh, I slipped.” When in doubt, go with the truth, or part of it, at any rate. It was so much easier than trying to lie.

“You shouldn’t have been on those stairs to begin with! Now, I’m only going to ask once more: what are your intentions? Did you mean to steal from us?”

“I’m not a thief, just a traveller.”

“That, I can believe. The luggage certainly speaks for itself. Let’s have a look inside.”

Newt considered begging him not to, but he didn’t want him to know how important the suitcase was. If those two made their life’s work of looking for profit wherever they could, what would they make of the artificial world he’d crafted inside? His instinct was screaming at him to protect it, but with his hands tied, it was just out of his reach. He screwed his eyes shut as the first latch flew open, convinced that it was all over… and the man let out a yell of pain. What?

On any other day, the scene that met his eyes would have been comical. The Niffler was literally hanging onto his hand with his little teeth in a desperate defence of his portable home.

“What is this thing?” he spat, tearing him off with no more care than he was giving the Demiguises and holding him upside down as far as his arm would allow, as though he gave off a terrible stench. What looked like an ornate bracelet gleaming with gold and jade fell out of his pouch.

“That’s ours!” the man snarled. “So you’re a thief _and_ a liar! Let’s see what else you’ve been lying about. _Revelio_!”

Newt winced as he felt the steps he’d taken to conceal himself receding one by one, but the wizard’s reaction was not what he expected. Rather than angry, he appeared genuinely surprised.

“Huh. I don’t know that face either. I thought you’d be one of our esteemed friends from law enforcement trying to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.” If he got out of this in one piece, those ‘esteemed friends’ would hear his first-hand account, that was for sure. “What else has your beast taken?”

He rummaged in the pouch with his rough fingers, and the Niffler let out a distressed sound at the violation as the glittering contents spilled onto the floor. _I’m so sorry, my friend. I should have done this without you_ , Newt thought sadly, but it was no use crying over spilt potion.

He seemed to take a wicked enjoyment in seeing that the small pile contained more than just what the creature had grabbed from upstairs, not knowing that the rest of it was all worthless baubles he’d given him for his entertainment. He tossed him aside like a broken toy, and as his tongue darted out to lick the paw he’d fallen on, Newt saw red.

“Don’t hurt him!” It still came out in his counterfeit voice—the spell hadn’t been enough to purge the potion from his system.

He gave a bitter laugh as the Niffler scuttled behind Newt’s back for safety. “Why, what is it to you? Your pet?”

“He certainly means more to me than _they_ do to you,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the cages.

“I can imagine. It’s a handy little thief. You’d think you could afford more than a suitcase that seems to be falling apart with a thing like that by your side.”

Newt was about to make a feeble attempt at explaining that it wasn’t a matter of money, but he shut his mouth—one, because he doubted the other man was able to comprehend it, and two, because he’d just seen Pickett scurrying across the floor, running single-mindedly to the cage holding the smaller Demiguise for more reinforcements. _Yes! Come on, boy, that lock can’t be too difficult._

“And now, let me show you and your little friend exactly what we do with thieves in this country.”

_Click_.

Now, in normal conditions, a Demiguise wouldn’t hurt a fly, but these conditions were hardly normal. Its eyes flashed blue with who knew what vision, and it tore out of the open cage and onto the man’s shoulders, sinking sharp teeth into the back of his neck with all the repressed anger that came from being confined against its will without knowing why. He cried out, swatting blindly behind him to get it off.

“What is it with you and these damn animals?”

That, he thought, was an excellent question, one he wasn’t sure he had a completely satisfying answer to. All he knew was that this was no longer a one-on-one fight. Perhaps the scales could tip in his favour yet.

He felt little paws clawing at his sleeve, and it was a moment before he understood the Niffler’s intentions. _Yes, pull harder, you can do it!_ With one last almighty lurch, his wand slid out and he caught it, vowing to amend the estimation of the creature’s intelligence in his notes. He certainly had done magic in front of him often enough, but he’d been quite convinced his little brain was too preoccupied with food, sleep and shiny things to make the association. The incantation he spoke was barely above a whisper, but it served to undo the restraints. The other wizard swore loudly and shot a flash of red at him, but he rolled out of the way.

The rest was a flurry of spells like he hadn’t seen since his school days. There was hardly time to think as he parried and dodged curses he knew and even a couple of exotic ones that definitely weren’t in the Hogwarts curriculum, and he felt himself being pushed inch by inch back towards the slippery stairs. Something hot grazed his left shoulder as his response was slowed by the combined tasks of duelling and walking up the steps backwards without tripping, but suddenly, the volley stopped and his opponent shrieked.

Newt couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Pickett was going for the eyes, like Bowtruckles did best, and it had to hurt. A lot.

He took care to aim considerably lower than his face and decided to end it before the other could regain his bearings. When lives were at stake, even Hufflepuffs were not above fighting dirty.

“ _Stupefy!_ ”

Pickett leapt off as he slumped to the floor, unconscious.

“Let’s get out of here before the Full-Body Bind on the other one wears off. All of us.”

The Bowtruckle (who would definitely get a fancy dinner of fairy eggs all to himself later) would have been perfectly ready to pick the second lock as well, but he’d done quite enough for the day.

“Oh, no. No more work for you, mister. In you hop. You deserve to get comfortable.” He crouched in front of the cage and Pickett climbed onto his hand and then back into his pocket, snuggling to his chest with what he could swear was a tiny sigh of contentment. “ _Alohomora_.”

The cage clicked open, but the second Demiguise did not make an immediate bid for freedom: in fact, it shrank even further into a corner, flickering in and out of sight for what little it could, too exhausted and hurt even to do that properly, the naked and bloodied patches staying visible.

He offered a cautious hand. “Come on, now. I won’t hurt you.” His voice shifted to its normal tone as he spoke. The potion was beginning to wear off. “I promise I won’t. Humans aren’t all that bad. I know you’ve met some of the worst, and you know what? So have I. But we’re both still here, right? So let me prove to you that I’m different. Come on out. What do you see in your future, little one? It can’t be much worse than this.”

The creature’s eyes flashed blue, and what he saw must have been very convincing indeed. Slowly, step by miraculous step, it inched out of the cage, looking hungrily around the room as though it couldn’t quite believe it.

“See? There’s a much, much bigger world out there. I wonder if you even remember any of it. Now, your little friend can go right back to the wild, but you… Merlin, you’re in no fit state to go anywhere. I’ll patch you up somehow, I promise, and then we’ll see. May I touch you?”

He expected the Demiguise to shy away, but instead, it extended a surprisingly human-like hand and slid it into his. Whatever the vision had been, it must have said good things about him.

Ever so carefully, trying not to touch any recent cuts, he picked it up and rose to his feet with it, then gave an assessing look between its legs.

“Yep, definitely a boy, if I’m not terribly wrong about your whole anatomy. So, now that that’s settled, the first thing you need is a name. Nothing like a good, respectable name to get your life back on track, huh, little guy?”

He did not by any means make it a rule to give his creatures names with initials that matched their species, but it was amusing, and Merlin knew they both needed something to smile about, especially the Demiguise himself.

“What about Dougal? You like that? You certainly look like a Dougal to me.”

Another brief flash of blue, and the newly christened creature relaxed fractionally into his hold. He shifted position to cradle him more comfortably, even as his injured shoulder screamed against it. He was burning up. Either Demiguises had a naturally high body temperature, or (he felt a pang just thinking how much more likely that was) some of those cuts were infected and he was running a fever.

“Well, then, Dougal, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Newt, and this lovable little stick is Pickett. I’m sure you’ll be good friends. Now, you may have your doubts about the company I keep—a thief and a lock-picker, imagine that. But I promise you, Dougal, we’re not much of a crime ring. We’re a family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is. It's been quite a ride! One of the few multi-chapter pieces I've ever finished in my life, in fact.  
> Show of hands--how many of you thought Dougal was actually the little one he'd been after since the beginning? I swear this isn't just a twist I came up with at the last minute. There were always going to be two in that basement, and Dougal was always meant to be the one in worse shape.

**Author's Note:**

> There is actual plot going on! *gasp*  
> I'm such a fluff lover that this actually surprises me. I'm so nervous. Don't judge too harshly.


End file.
